


Coming Home

by mickeym



Series: We Know Each Other As We Always Were [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Amnesia, M/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-23
Updated: 2009-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He doesn't recognize anyone here, except for Sam.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> A timestamp in the "We Know Each Other" verse, set shortly after that story ends. Oddly enough, it was Dean talking to me this time, though he became kind of close-mouthed after I started listening. I really love this universe, and these boys, and revisiting them. I hope y'all enjoy this, too.

_Wall, SD  
July, 1953_

Nothing looks even remotely familiar. Not the church, not the store with the huge "Wall Drug" sign, or the main street lined with shop windows.

Not the old, worn farmhouse, or barn standing stalwart and empty behind it. 

Nothing.

Dean digs his fingertips into the palms of his hands, leaving little crescent moons behind, white marks against the darker skin until the blood flows back in and erases them.

Sam points things out to him, landmarks, people, buildings. They stop a dozen times easily so someone, usually an older woman but sometimes an older man, can exclaim, "Dean Winchester! It's so good to see you home again, son." The men shake his hand and the women fuss over him – over them both – and all Dean sees in his mind are the people, family and friends, he left behind. 

He doesn't recognize anyone here, except for Sam.

~~~

Sam has things he has to take care of in Rapid City, so Dean spends the hours he's gone walking the property. Hoping he'll stumble over something that will trigger his memory.

He finds "DW here 1935" carved into a fence post on the far side of the farm, and a little further down he finds "Sammy 1935" carved into the same. A picture forms in his head, and is gone again as quick as a lightning strike, of a wild-haired little boy squinting up at him, mouth drawn into a frown as he said, "I can do it myself, Dean," and another boy, fair-haired and flushed with summer heat, handing over the knife, saying only, "be careful."

Clouds are gathering high overhead, dark toward the center, bringing the promise of rain and hopefully cooler temperatures. Everyone in town talked about the unseasonably hot and dry summer, and the dire need for rain, but Dean doesn't know. Doesn't remember.

~~~

He's standing in front of Bobby Singer's headstone when the first raindrops fall, cool and silvery, just a little heavier than a mist but not quite rain, not yet.

"I'm sorry," Dean says quietly, not looking at the other headstones. He kneels down and smoothes a hand over the grass; reaches out and carefully touches the worn stone that simply gives the name and dates of Bobby's birth and death. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here, for you or for Sam."

The rain dripping into his mouth tastes salty for a while, and Dean's not sure who the tears are for: this uncle he doesn't remember, the brother he barely remembers, or himself, so much forgotten that he doesn't even know what he's missing.

~~~

Sam finds him sitting in front of his own headstone, hair and clothing plastered to his skin from the rain that's since passed by, staring at it intently like he can puzzle something of himself out of it.

"I brought food home," Sam begins, settling carefully beside him. Dean nods absently; they haven't had time yet to go to the general store for more than a few basic necessities like washing powder and soap, and lightbulbs. Nothing particularly food-like. "Got, uh, some fried chicken."

"That's fine," Dean murmurs. "You get your stuff taken care of?"

Sam shifts, settling a little closer, and touches Dean's knee, his fingers warm through the cold, wet cotton Dean's wearing. "Most of it. One more trip in, maybe in a day or so." He hesitates, and Dean hears him swallow, awkward and nervous, and Sam shouldn't be. Just, shouldn't. "Are you—are you okay? I know this is all…new," he finishes softly, the word barely whispered. 

_New_ , as opposed to _forgotten_. Dean likes the first one better, since it means he can learn, not that he doesn't remember. 

"It's—I'm fine, Sammy," he says, and he's not even really lying. He covers Sam's hand with his own and smiles when Sam turns his hand palm up so their fingers slide together. "I'll be fine," he amends, squeezing gently once before leaning in to taste Sam's smile, all sunshine and warmth that spreads through him the longer they kiss.

It might be new, but it _is_ home. Dean feels that for certain, deep inside himself. 

~fin~


End file.
